


Nuts And Bolts

by Righ



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 10pts to anyone who gets the title, In case you were wondering, Katt - Freeform, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Shatt, Threesome - M/M/M, kosmo is out with his uncle hunk getting all the treats while this fic happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Righ/pseuds/Righ
Summary: After N-Seven breaks up with Matt, he goes to his friends for help. What he gets goes far beyond even Matt Holt's horny hopes and dreams.





	Nuts And Bolts

It happens a year into his relationship with N-Seven. There's no one he can talk to about it, she isn't even mad after he speaks to _her_, the subject simply _is_ and he wallows in guilt for days before it really hits him when stumbling around a corner at the garrison and treated to a full view of Keith trying to swallow Shiro mouth-first. The kiss is about as ardent as could be with Keith clutching at Shiro's uniform to hold him close, ravaging him with about as much finesse as a hungry balmera. Shiro isn't complaining, far from if the low moan Keith swallows down has anything to say about it. Matt is frozen, blinking stupidly as he stands in the middle of the hallway, staring like a pervert. This is what he has come to, he thinks. Ogling his friends in a private moment.

Pathetic, really.

Shiro notices him first out of the corner of his eye and breaks off from Keith hastily, wiping his mouth as he gapes in shock. Spit that isn't his own shines on his chin, drawing Matt's gaze.

"M-Matt! Didn't, uh, didn't see you there. Hi."

Keith looks far less ruffled, although the ruddy blush running down his cheeks to his collar tells Matt all he needs to know about his annoyed mood even without the arm that remains slung around Shiro, preventing him from stepping away in a fluster.

"Hey, Matt."

"Guys! So good to, yeah, see you. Right there, together. Um." Licking dry lips, Matt hazards a wonky smile and gestures to the corridor ahead, to which the pair of lovebirds step to one side to let him past. "Carry on, carry on! Fuck times all round – _shit_, I meant _fun times_, not ..."

He flees before a distressed Shiro can even squeak out his name.

That night, N-Seven needles him about it as he eats dinner on the couch. She sits at the other end with a cable linked up to one of the ports on the wall, literally recharging from a day's exertions in the labs. She's been wonderful about Matt's human failures, as usual, and he wishes he could carve out his fleshy insides to replace himself with the perfect AI boyfriend she deserves.

"Your stress levels are highly elevated," she says without looking away from the TV, her voice a mechanical purr. "If you do not seek a remedy soon, you may become ill. Pining is a form of emotional anxiety directly related to cravings which require satiation." She does glance at him, then, her tone even and encouraging. "I suggest you call your friends, Matt."

He sighs into his chow mein, hunched over a knee as comfort-eating does little to help his mood. It's as if a thousand nanites are crawling under his skin when he thinks about the way Keith kissed Shiro with such force, the sight of scraping teeth over a lip and lapping tongues sending shivers down his spine. And the way Shiro had _moaned_ …

Matt bristles in his seat.

"I wouldn't even know what to say," he whines, stuffing chicken into his mouth to talk around. "It's so weird!"

"Human beings are social creatures, pack animals," says N-Seven, drawing a snort from Matt with her candour. "Moreover, your species is inherently programmed to crave copulation to survive." Matt chokes as N-Seven continues, unphased. "This is a primal instinct for many humans which is predictable at best and unsurprising at worst. Bearing witness to the carnal pleasures of others, such as you cannot experience with me, is an outlier in the cadence of our relationship that sparks your interest and one I do not share your alarm over."

Matt almost drops his chow mein.

"Wait, so you're saying you _knew_ I'd want to bang some flesh-and-bone person eventually, is that right?"

"I did not rule out the possibility."

It stings to hear his girlfriend has always held such a default, unsettling his already wounded mood into something sharper. N-Seven hasn't done anything wrong, she's using logic as usual, yet Matt stares at her incredulously and somehow finds himself surprised in the worst way as the mood in the room cools.

"You seriously factored _cheating_ into our relationship as an eventuality."

"Your phrasing is deliberately antagonistic, Matt."

"Probably is," he concedes with a gratuitously needless wave, feelings hurt. "I'm just a slave to my bestial instincts, apparently. I can't believe you, Seven. Is that what you really think of me?"

N-Seven tilts her head curiously, unhooks her charging cable, and slides over the couch to sit at his side, the cool touch of her metal palm coaxing him to look at her. She's beautiful, all sleek lines and glowing intelligence, but for the first real time in their relationship he wishes that she had _eyes_.

He wants to cry. What's _wrong_ with him?

"Matt," she says quietly, a tremor of emotion in her voice, "you desire the touch of another human and that is no bad thing, I do not hold it against you. I _know _you love me. But, this is a problem I am unable to rectify for you. I have no lips with which to kiss you, to show you how much I value you in return. Sentiment and loyalty have worked in our favour this far and I am … grateful, yet you cannot deny that, from this point on, our relationship will continue to deteriorate."

_Wait, what?_

It's as if the world grinds to a halt.

All the angry, writhing snakes in Matt's guts suddenly disappear, leaving him unmoored and light-headed as he stares at N-Seven's featureless face. Fear coldly slips down his spine like ice and he turns to face her properly, taking her hands in a tight grip.

"No! God, I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_, Seven, that's not – that's not what's happening, it's just me being a Neanderthal-brained dimwit, I swear I don't want –" Choked by his own panic, he finds himself gathered up in a hug that, cruelly, alleviates his inability to breathe and he gulps down panicked breaths over N-Seven's shoulder. When she starts to stroke his hair, however, that's the last straw. He sits up and cups her face in a parody of how she held his, inwardly quaking even as his solidifies the foundations of his voice. "I _promise_ you, Seven, you're the one I want to be with. This is all a mess, that's all."

"Matt ..."

"It's my fault, I know, I'll take up, _fuck,_ meditation or something to suppress these kinds of thoughts –"

"I have already calculated an unfavourable outcome for us."

"– and we'll be fine! We'll be _fine._ You believe me, don't you?"

N-Seven is still as a statue. Her hands in his squeeze gently once, as receptive as any human. Then she shakes her head, unable to lie; at the very least, she sounds apologetic.

"I do not."

There isn't a mathematical formula to quantify how suddenly Matt's entire world changes even though everything in it stays the same. The TV still plays, his chow mein is still in his lap, tomorrow the sun will rise, but somehow he just lost his girlfriend.

He must be in shock, he absently thinks, because he has to ask dumbly for clarification, "Are you breaking up with me?"

N-Seven pauses, nodding a moment later. 

"I will recharge in the lab tonight," she says graciously, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Matt's (it's _their thing_, their gesture of closeness, and he thinks he feels his heart shred on the spot) before rising and collecting her cables. "Please, Matt. I urge you to assuage your distress in any manner that is not harmful to you or other people."

He stares at the door as she leaves. His gaze tracks unseeingly to the TV and he mechanically lifts his fork to his lips, finishing off his cooling dinner in the ensuing silence of their apartment, numb from the inside-out and unable to understand exactly what just happened, how it escalated so smoothly into one of N-Seven's logical summaries, only this time about _them_. 

All because, the other night in bed, Matt admitted he missed fucking.

_I have already calculated an unfavourable outcome for us._

Well, shit. She didn't rate probabilities lightly, which meant this had been running through her head for days and the result was ultimately: _Matt is a weak human._ God, he hates himself. Why isn't he angry? He wishes he could be. Instead, he takes his bowl to the sink and calmly puts it in the dishwasher, opening the fridge to stare into its contents. He finds them lacking.

Just like him. Matt is about as satisfying as an empty refrigerator, _wow._

Rubbing his eyes, he tries to get a grip on reality and splashes cold water over his face. _Method, solution, result_. All he needs to do it figure out how to feel better, easy. No problem. He's a certified genius, he can figure this out in no time.

He checks the opening times of the nearest city bar.

*

As a groan-ass adult, no one comes out looking for Matt past his bedtime. No one even knows where he is, which is more of a factor, although he certainly isn't about to call them and blurt out the entire story of why his incredibly advanced AI girlfriend dumped him because he missed getting his dick wet like the cretin he is. He wallows at the sticky bar of the dive he mooched into when the night was still young, now cradling a bottle of whatever the alien next to him thought he was worth splashing out on now the night is significantly older, metaphorically geriatric. Closing time is a half-hour away, as the barkeepers call, so Matt's main focus is managing to down his drink despite the taste; the effect will be the same. 

His potential suitor is pretty, he can tell even in a drunken haze, a tall galra with a keen smile and even sharper cheekbones, some kind of feline-themed lineage that would ordinarily have Matt squirming excitedly in his seat. As it is, he feels welded to the spot, too emotionally drained to do more than thank them for the drink and continue looking depressed. They catch onto his mood being a weight that won't lift, no matter how forward they are, and he wants to cry when they hesitantly pat his arm and wish him a goodnight, giving up the ghost.

Disappointing a complete stranger is the tipping point his emotional equilibrium has been waiting for. He hoists his ass free of a firmly butt-shaped stool after hours spent in it and stumbles all the way to the exit, proud of his ability to flag down a taxi and not brain himself getting in. The address he gives is easy to remember, mostly because he actively longs to be there whether or not he's supposed to. Within thirty minutes he's standing at the end of the Shirogane driveway, staring up at the silent, dark house as he sways on the grass in the wake of the taxi leaving him in nothing but moonlight. Tripping over his own feet, he stares at his hands to steady himself and holds them out all the way to the front door, leaning against it heavily as he drags down deep breaths of the cold desert night air.

He counts to five in Arusian, then calls tiredly against the wood, "_Shiro._ Keith!"

No reply comes. Sighing, Matt tips his head back (clutching the doorknob so he doesn't fall backwards, he's smart like that) and hollers as loud as he can while pounding the knocker, "_Takashi Shirogane and Keith Shirogane_, open up! Police! You're under arrest!"

People always open their doors to the authorities, he reasons. It's his best ploy.

There's a noise above him as a window opens and he peers up to see Shiro hanging out, hair tousled. From inside comes an aggravated snarl of, "Who is it?"

Shiro blinks, concern fading to surprise. "Matt? Keith, it's _Matt_, he's at the front door."

"What the fuck? What time is it …?"

"Hi!" calls Matt, waving enthusiastically. He stumbles over the stones edging the grass and crumples in a heap, laughing at how gravity works. Shiro disappears from sight but Keith is still there, which is great. Keith's pretty great in general, Matt decided that a long time ago even before he saw what his tongue could do to a man. "I'm not supposed to be here!"

"Are you drunk?" concern hardens Keith's tone, making Matt frown.

"I think so," he solemnly says, distracted by the click of the door-locks opening and Shiro making an appearance, framed in warm golden light. He leaves it to hurry over to Matt's side, helping him up. "God," Matt groans, holding onto him, "I'm _so_ drunk, you guys. I'm so sorry."

"Come on, up we go," says Shiro, all but carrying Matt indoors where the heat and light makes him drowsier than the chilly outdoors. Shiro guides him to the couch just as Keith arrives, sitting next to him with a supportive arm around Matt's middle. "What did you get yourself into, huh? This isn't like you."

Matt slumps against the couch which is very sturdy yet soft. It's nicer than his, which came with the shitty garrison apartment he shares with N-Seven. _Shared_. Keith moves into his peripheral vision, exchanging worried looks with Shiro.

"I like a good time, that's all," he slurs, waving an uncoordinated hand that flops on his lap.

"You smell like a few of nunvill's cousins," says Shiro evenly, leading Matt to explain why.

"That's because I _am_ a few of nunvill's cousins!" says Matt, poking Shiro in the chest. "They're inside me now, digesting! _Assimilating_ into my biological energy cortex, forever mine."

"That's great, Matt. How many drinks did you have?"

"Ten? Eleven. I paid for all of them! Well, _most_ of them ..."

He feels a little green in the cheeks as each round comes roaring back into memory, simultaneously rushing up his throat. 

He _gags_.

"I'll grab a bucket," he hears hurriedly from Keith, feeling Shiro's fingers wind through his long hair to pull it away from his face as the world blurs and Matt's insides abruptly try to explode up his throat and into the timely bucket Keith positions, hurtling to their sad watery grave at its bottom in a brown swirl. Matt vomits once more for good measure, since his stomach isn't fucking around. He can't see anything when he slumps into Shiro's side but a damp washcloth somehow materialises next to his mouth before a glass of water, which he sips obediently. Time slows, shadows melting into blurry figures and soft words of reassurance, and then Matt feels someone brushing the hair out of his eyes as he falls asleep.

He's alone when he wakes up, sunshine pouring in through an unfamiliar window with gauzy curtains. Smacking his lips together reveals his mouth may be the last resting place of a furry animal and he groans, pulling the sheets up over his head as he slowly remembers the room. Five minutes in darkness is all he's granted before a soft knock comes at the door, followed by Shiro. The scent of a hearty breakfast wafting through on his heels is as enticing as it is disgusting, and Matt peeks at him over the duvet, his last bastion of retreat from a world he whole-heartedly hates.

"Good morning," Shiro smiles, perching on the edge of his own guest-room's bed. He looks horrendously fresh as a daisy, hair damp from a recent shower and skin flushed from either hot water or morning sex.

Matt's headache is almost as wild as his imagination.

"Is it," he croaks back sceptically, earning a fond look.

"Keith's making a big breakfast downstairs, if you're feeling up to joining us. He says if you can find your way to our door while smashed then you can find your way to the kitchen while sober, so sorry, no breakfast-in-bed this time."

"Tell him thanks, I'll come down."

Shiro's hand rests on Matt's blanketed leg, grey eyes soft.

"No rush," he says kindly. "You remember where the bathroom is, right?" Matt nods. "Good, then you can freshen up whenever you're ready."

"I'll just fix … _this_ first," says Matt, hand popping out of the duvet to gesture broadly to his face. He's sure he looks an absolute state, confirmed when Shiro only nods his agreement.

"Alright, buddy. See you in a bit."

Shiro leaves without pushing for answers despite the fact Matt crashed his home at ass o'clock like a class-A lout, for which Matt is forever grateful. He showers for twenty minutes straight before qualifying as anything close to human, coming out smelling like whatever galra-sourced haircare products Keith hoards, and finds a fresh t-shirt and joggers waiting on the bottom of his bed. Any shame he feels padding down his friends' staircase in their clothes, smelling of their conditioner, is invulnerable to the sheer misery of the previous night still caged inside his ribs and compounded by a thunderous headache. Thankfully Keith takes one look at him and shares another with Shiro, who sits beside Matt at the table as Keith slides plates piled high with hash browns, sausages, beans and eggs in front of both of them.

Matt's stomach gurgles its approval and he starts eating, eyelids drooping all the while. After a couple of minutes he starts to feel marginally better, at the very least capable of speech and he breaks the amiable silence.

"Sorry about last night," he says, making sure to meet Shiro's and Keith's eyes. "I was a hot mess."

"You gave us quite a scare. Do you mind us asking what happened?" says Shiro.

Matt's laugh bubbles up weakly as he rubs his face, slumped forward. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation is even worse in the light of day, let alone in front of the two specific people present. The probability of hiding the real reason for why Matt not only fell off the proverbial wagon but also set it on fire is non-existent, although he knows neither of them would push for answers if he didn't want to give any. More accurately, he doesn't _want_ to lie by omission. 

After all, who else does he have to talk to?

"N-Seven dumped me," he croaks out, demolishing an egg with his fork before eating it. He keeps his attention on his plate to miss the looks Shiro and Keith share but their momentary silence is a giveaway. "She said it was basically illogical for us to keep seeing each other when I'm a dumb human, so. Whatever, I guess. I thereafter _illogically _took my ass into the city. I … I didn't mean to crash here."

"Matt, it's okay. I'm so sorry," says Shiro, the weight of his hand on Matt's shoulder a welcome one. "Maybe you could talk to her later, once you've sorted yourself out?"

"No, that's not gonna work."

"But if it only just happened last night –"

"She decided _a while ago _that I was always going to cheat on her, being a basic human bitch, and three days ago I told her I missed human contact in the, uh, bedroom, so to speak. That apparently solidified her suspicions and she wasted no time letting me down, Shiro, so I appreciate your optimism but this is really one _huge steaming wreck_ of a break-up and I _really don't wanna_ –"

"Okay, it's okay, _shhh_ ..."

The way Shiro folds him into a hug is too reminiscent of N-Seven's embrace before of the hard shoulder-port, so Matt turns his cheek against the warmth of Shiro's neck instead and breathes in shakily, calming down as a hand strokes his back and another holds him close. He feels the touch of a third palm on his crown and looks up to find Keith there, uncertain about the gesture but offering the comfort anyway. When Matt attempts a watery smile, Keith squeezes his shoulder. 

"You can stay here as long as you need," Keith says, and Shiro nods.

Matt sighs, rubbing his closed eyes on Shiro's shoulder. 

"Thanks, but I doubt that'll help the situation."

"What're you talking about?" says Keith, tugging on Matt's hair until he looks up with a wince that has nothing to do with Keith's grip.

"I might've, kinda, mentioned the way watching you guys make-out turned me on."

Keith's snort lands somewhere between astonished and amused, whereas Shiro is entirely surprised. He sorts through his emotions with a glance at Keith, who plants a hand on a hip and peers at Matt for an explanation.

Awkwardly, Shiro hedges, "Are you saying _we're_ the reason she broke up with you? Because of a stray thought you had?"

"No, of course not! You can relax." Slumping back in his seat, Matt gestures helplessly with his hands in his lap and tries not to feel like a complete loser under Shiro's patient gaze and Keith's squint. "It all started a few days ago when we were naked in bed –"

"I'll make us all some coffee," Keith abruptly declares, abandoning Shiro who looks mildly betrayed. He remains in earshot from the kitchen, however, so that Matt doesn't have to raise his voice.

"You don't have to go into detail," Shiro says quickly.

"Guys. Please have, like, the bare minimum of faith in me here."

"Sorry," Shiro nods, chastened. "Go ahead."

Matt takes a breath; Shiro has heard weirder shit from him before and Keith expects nothing less, this is fine. It's _fine_.

"Like I said, we were naked in bed and going over how much we enjoyed everything that led up to that when I happened to mention how _different_ it would be if she had silicone flesh, something Seven's never been too hot on. It was just an idea! I wasn't pushing or anything … and then we got onto the subject of intercourse between humans and, sure, I admitted I missed the connection that could be formed between two people of the same species, the feel of a – a real body –"

"Oh, Matt. You didn't."

"I didn't mean it as a comparison, we were spit-balling! She was saying how stimulating electrical charges could be!"

Shiro's lips flatten to a line. Matt continues, resting his forehead in a hand where he slumps against the table.

"Then yesterday I saw you two treating your tongues like clashing bayards in the corridor –"

"Hey," Keith protests, ignored as he returns with three coffees on a tray. Matt takes one, barely losing his stride even when his voice cracks.

"– and it was, I don't know, _beautiful._" He doesn't miss the way Shiro's expression softens, or Keith touching his husband's shoulder. As his distress levels rise, Matt spills coffee on his borrowed pants. "I haven't kissed anyone in a few _years_, okay? I don't mind, not really! I _love_ Seven, she's kind and sweet and so fucking smart it makes my head hurt trying to keep up with her, but I just couldn't stop thinking about ..."

As contemplative as Keith isn't widely known to be, he very much _is _when he shrewdly finishes, "About kissing her."

Silence greets the kitchen. Matt stares at his untouched coffee, setting it aside as a heavy weight lays across his shoulders with the force of an unpleasant realisation, forcing him to slump forward.

In a small, guilty voice, he corrects Keith, "I wasn't thinking about Seven, actually."

Shiro pats him on the knee consolingly as Matt's emotions spiral downwards, hating how aware he suddenly is of what a shithead he's been. No wonder N-Seven broke up with him, she knew he wasn't pining after any kisses _she_ could have given him, only those he had seen. 

He _had_ cheated on her, albeit emotionally. Bringing Shiro and Keith into it had gravitated idle musings into reality.

"I'm such an idiot," he moans, turning to hide his face in his hands on the table. What he doesn't expect is an embrace from both sides, one large and soft, the other slender and warm. Because he's weak, Matt hides in the press of their bodies and grips their clothes, dry, unhappy hiccups stifled in his throat. "I hate me."

Keith's chuckle is fonder than he would usually show, taking to brushing through Matt's hair again. 

"Well, _we_ don't hate you, and if Seven already thinks badly of you for being around us then you haven't got much to lose by staying here. Right?"

"Your logic is sound," Matt miserably agrees. He looks up to find Keith watching him, the sharp features of his face gentled by a smile. 

"You're good to stick around. Isn't he, Shiro?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Shiro agrees, and the kindness in his grey eyes has Matt's lip wobbling.

"You guys!" he wails, dragging them in for a tighter hug. He doesn't deserve them, he knows.

In fact, he doesn't deserve the morning he spends playing video games with Keith in the living room as Shiro works from home on his pad, or the pizza lunch they order in. By mid-afternoon, Matt is full of junk food and cosily ensconced on their monster sofa (big enough for Kosmo, let alone three men) under a tangle of warm blankets and hugged from both sides, head resting on Shiro's shoulder as Keith runs his hand over Matt's food-baby. It's only when he hears a rumbling that he squints sideways at Keith and is faced with a stare-down as the sound grows louder.

Shiro laughs, low and relaxed.

"He can purr," he elaborates, to which Keith does so louder before it drops back to a soft thrum. 

"That's so fucking cute," says Matt, touching the bobbing lump in Keith's throat with light fingertips. He shivers, sinking back into the couch. "How did you find out you could do that?"

"He was, uh, _very happy _in bed one night," supplies Shiro, cheeks turning pink. 

Keith's snicker ruins the purring and he grins, sliding Matt a sly look.

"I was giving head," he says proudly, making Shiro facepalm and Matt bark with laughter.

"You guys are every trope in the book, I swear. You seriously _purred_ around his dick?" The imagery makes Matt swallow, squirming in his seat under Keith's confident gaze. 

"He wasn't complaining."

The look Keith shares with a blushing Shiro turns into something else that Matt can't follow, a silent discussion of eyebrows and glances as he stews in a filthy pit of imagined scenarios where Keith has a tail and kitty ears too, maybe even a cute little bell on a collar. He's pulled out of his daydreaming by Keith's hand sliding under the hem of his shirt, palming his way over a navel and stomach to make Matt squeak.

"Hey, uh, what's this?"

"Keith's hoping you'll stay the night," says Shiro, in a voice so low Matt has to glance at him. Despite the blush Shiro still wears, he meets Matt's eyes steadily and the prosthetic fingers in his blond hair start to comb through, rubbing gently at the scalp. Matt's lashes droop, fighting against his need to catch up on whatever silent conversation he was left out of. Thankfully, Shiro's there to oblige, and he makes Matt's breath catch when he leans in to do so against the curve of Matt's neck, hot breath skittering over a pulse. "So am I." Keith pets his way up Matt's chest with a hand so hot it feels like it's been resting on a radiator as Shiro brushes his lips up to an ear, whispering, "Is this okay?"

_Holy fuck._

Matt feels light-headed, over-sensitive waves of pleasure shooting through his entire body to warm him up in new ways. He feels the ache of an erection starting, sweet and promising like the way his friends surround him, and gasps softly through a bitten lip. He must really need this, he dimly reasons, because his vision is spotting white as he shifts more into their roaming hands and mouths without complaint.

"Very fucking okay," he shivers, palming a thigh on either side of him and seeking out the groins above, getting simultaneous noises of approval. "Don't stop, it – it feels so good."

Keith's hand is replaced by Shiro's flesh one, less hot without galran blood running through him but no less greedy to touch as much of Matt as possible, gently pinching his hard nipples to elicit moans and covering pecs with his huge hand, squeezing. Matt could let Shiro play with his tits all night long, he wouldn't argue. Keith is free to tug the blanket down to their knees and expose the stiff tent in Matt's slacks, embarrassingly hard after a bit of heavy petting, tipping his chin down to watch as he lowers a waistband. 

"You've got a nice dick, Matt," says Keith, and Matt's pulse skyrockets as he feels long dark hair sweeping over his bare abs and thighs when Keith lowers his head. _Godfuckgodfuckholyshit._ "Shame it hasn't had one of these in a while."

A hard kiss from Shiro smothers Matt's moan as wet heat engulfs his cock, the suction of Keith's mouth insanely perfect as plush lips rub under the swollen glans over and over, bold and practised. Matt has to screw his eyes shut and knead at Shiro's burgeoning erection to share some of the overwhelming pleasure, whimpering obediently when Shiro guides his other hand into Keith's hair for Matt to pet. Shallow thrusts are welcomed by Keith, who evidently kept it on the down-low for years that he's the king of blowjobs, and Matt loses himself sifting through lusciously thick dark hair as Shiro tongue-fucks the thought out of him, his weight bearing down on Matt deliciously at his side.

It isn't long before Matt is squeaking about his impending orgasm, wanting to warn them, but they only take it as their cue to go harder and Matt muffles his shout in Shiro's mouth as he shudders and gasps with the force of a spine-melting orgasm, sucked dry by Keith whose head bobs eagerly right until Matt is hissing and tugging on his hair. Keith laves the slit with a mutinous look at being interrupted before he straightens. Wisps of dark hair stick to his chin.

"Don't be greedy, baby," says Shiro, catching said chin and guiding Keith into a kiss that is equal parts rough as it is adoring. 

Matt gapes at the sight of them sharing a taste of his come over his lap, breathing harder than he has in a long time. He may have hallucinated the last ten minutes entirely.

The pair of erections pressing against his bare thighs through sweatpants say differently, grounding his focus.

"So," says Shiro with a cough, as if inviting Matt to stay means nothing more than a friendly invitation to dinner, not _being_ it. "Shall we move this somewhere more comfortable?"

They wait for him to answer, reaching down to squeeze their hard lengths and earning matching hungry looks. 

"I … Yeah, let's – let's do that."

Their bedroom is markedly different to the guest one, homely in the way Matt spots a sock hanging out of a drawer and spare instruments for touching up Shiro's arm on a dresser, photos pinned to a board of all their friends and family. The duvet is already rumpled when Keith crawls onto it first, stripping out of his clothes and kneeling there naked, a determined glint in his eye. Matt, too dumb to process the sudden amount of skin on view, is turned around by Shiro at the bedside and melts into a kiss as soft as it is filthy, making his spent cock twitch with interest. It hurts a little, but in a good way. Shiro is so respectful as he peels Matt out of his borrowed clothes and Matt hurries to do the same, running his hands over a heavily scarred body as it's revealed. He's guided onto the bed and backed up into Keith's arms, trapped between his two incredibly hot friends and their hard dicks, one rubbing tantalisingly between his cheeks and the other pressing heavily against his belly.

"You'd do this for me?" he asks, turning his head to catch Keith's kisses that travel up his neck. Shiro bites down on Matt's shoulders, thumbs rubbing firmly into the divots of his hips to hold him in place, ground upon by both men. His head feels light again. "You're not mad?"

Keith wraps his arms around Matt in a hug, hand dipping between his legs to stroke the start of a second erection, gentle but unrelenting. 

"You need it, don't you? Get it out of your system and maybe you can come to an arrangement with Seven."

Now that's an idea. If she would even come near Matt again, that is, let alone with two other lovers on the side. Shiro and Keith belong together, they're obviously secure enough within their relationship to invite someone else into their bed, and Matt's _so _grateful to be the one let into their lives, even just once. Maybe twice. 

A man can hope.

"Matt, what do you want?" Shiro meets his eyes, rewarding him for paying attention with a chaste kiss. "What do you _need_? We're here to help you."

"Whatever I need?" says Matt, hesitantly. He can't breathe when they both nuzzle his cheeks, kisses drifting over his face and down his neck like damp butterflies. In Keith's fist, his cock is once more hard, dripping with precome as it confirms Matt is the neediest bitch in the galactic quadrant. "I, uh, I … I want to get fucked by both of you," he admits, sighing in bliss when Shiro kisses him properly, as if he's said the right thing. "Can I have that? Can I have you both?"

"If you're a good boy," purrs Keith, hitting Matt with a strong urge to submit to his every command, something he never saw coming even with Keith as the leader of Voltron. 

"Fuck me, then," he whines, scraping at Keith's ass and Shiro's neck, arm hooked around Shiro for stability. "And don't stop until I say."

Shiro looks so playful that the years fall away from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and Matt is abruptly a teenager again, travelling to Kerberos alongside the hottest golden garrison boy he's forbidden to touch by all the cameras documenting the journey. 

"You're being naughty," Shiro says, and it sounds like praise.

Matt preens.

Keith spanks him across a cheek in the next moment and he yelps, clutching tight to Shiro with both arms. He helps them manoeuvre him into Shiro's lap, quaking thighs soothed by Keith's palms so that he isn't trembling when slippery fingers seek out his hole, pressing inside, making him whimper for more. The pressure isn't unlike when Seven did it in the past but Keith runs far hotter than than most humans, let alone AIs, so Matt is hyper-aware of how he burns in the best way as Keith works him open. Shiro's cock rubs against his own between them as he uses him for stability, larger by a few inches and far thicker, the stuff of wet dreams. Matt ruts between the satisfyingly hard erection and Keith's long fingers, zoning out by the time he feels Keith's hand slip away and the nudge of something thicker. 

A thin line of drool slips from the corner of Matt's mouth and is licked up by Shiro who distracts him from being penetrated with a lurid kiss all tongue and lips, nearly enough to make Matt forget about Keith's cock rubbing deeper into his ass as the seconds tick by. Once fully seated, Matt gives a wriggle and is rewarded by Keith's sharp intake of breath. 

"You've been naughty, now be good," says Shiro, reaching around the both of them to guide Keith by manhandling his ass, and there's something so inherently fucking hot about Shiro being the one to control how and when Keith gets to fuck Matt, it's absurdly comforting. Keith keeps his grip on Matt's waist but clutches at Shiro's left arm as he starts to move, chin hooking over Matt's shoulder as he loses himself in fucking to Shiro's rhythm. Matt's moans match Keith's and he whines when his prostate is rubbed just right, Shiro's attentiveness meaning Keith does it over and over, reducing the two of them to a bucking, hurried mess in no time. Matt's cock rubs precome all over Shiro's stomach and he shudders as he feels Keith's pace picking up, the wet clap of Matt's cheeks over his hips obscenely loud in the homely bedroom. 

"That's it, baby, you're doing so well." Shiro captures Keith in a kiss over Matt's shoulder, briefly leaving him to simply hold on around Shiro and watch, hopelessly turned on. "Give it to him, Keith, he wants it. Wants _you_. Let me see you come for me and Matt, sweetheart."

Matt is jolted forward by Keith's reserve of energy, dropping his forehead to a sweaty shoulder with a moan as Keith grinds out Shiro's name and his cock twitches hard twice, three times, the hot come that fills up Matt's over-worked ass startling a cry out of him as he thrusts back; it's been _so long_. They work Keith over in tandem with the help of Shiro's hands firmly gripping Keith's ass to drag him in, needlessly in the wake of Keith's own strength, and Matt thinks he might moan _yes fuck me please_ and feel Keith shudder behind him as a result, fucking him a few more times for good measure.

Shiro is the whole reason Matt doesn't fall backwards when Keith does, the bounce of a body on the mattress signalling Keith is spent. Matt glimpses him when Shiro lays him down, and Keith lazily combs through Matt's hair in the satiated haze of his afterglow, but it's Shiro's turn next and Matt shortly finds himself unable to look anywhere else.

"Okay?" says Shiro, eyes tender as if his monster cock isn't nudging the slick, used hold between Matt's splayed, weak legs. When he nods, whispering, "Yeah", Shiro wraps his flesh arm around his waist and braces on his prosthetic, pushing in slower than Keith did and with good reason.

"Fuck, Shiro – god, _Shiro_!"

Keith returns to kiss a blond temple, hand sliding into one of Matt's for support.

"Relax, it's alright … You can take him, Matty."

The new nickname has Matt sobbing their names as Shiro's dick splits him open inch by inch, _Keith_ and _Takashi_ for the eternity it takes for Shiro to bury himself inside. He follows Keith's instructions to breathe deeply and Shiro kisses his eyelids, his cheeks, as Matt's body eases up on tension and finally accepts how full it is. Screwing around with a few aliens while on the run from the galra still leaves nothing in his memory like being stretched out around Shiro's cock, the heat and hardness overwhelmingly good. Keith seems to appreciate where his mind's drifting to and smiles against Matt's lips, catching his eye.

"Okay, Shiro," he says, and then Matt is made breathless by the feeling of being actively fucked by that incredible cock in long strokes, grasping at Keith's hand and Shiro's hair, loving every moment that his exhausted body is wrecked further. 

"Feels so good," groans Shiro, noticing Matt's brief smirk and growling as he leans down to nip it away, finding the exact angle that turns Matt's nerve-endings into human jello and aiming for it over and over, strong hands hoisting Matt onto his thick thighs so he has less farther to go when it comes to fucking him.

It's how Matt wants to die, he decides, until he feels Keith shifting around to rub his newest erection (galran refractory periods don't seem to exist,, thrillingly) against Matt's side, rutting shamelessly into the soft dip of his waist. This, then, is how he wants to die, with two men desperate to drown him in their come.

"Matthew," Shiro groans, stealing his attention for a soft kiss that echoes to steady pace of his hips, the swing-and-slap as reliable as the rising of the sun, a constant as Matt feels Keith's sharp teeth raking over his shoulder. Time slows until it's just the three of them existing like that, hot breaths and hard cocks desperate to keep in contact. When Shiro stops Matt feels his world sway, but Shiro only kisses his cheek and murmurs in that commanding Captain's voice, "Roll over, honey."

Oh. _Honey_.

Keith picks up on it too, assisting in getting Matt comfortable on his belly with a pillow under his hips, spread out for Shiro's pleasure. His smile is fond when he slides down in front of Matt to put him across his lap, perfectly positioned to pleasure him in return for earlier, which Matt does without pause; he was good at this once, hopefully still is. Truth be told, he wants to prove he's worth all of this a second time around in the future because he may just be getting addicted to it.

On another level, he really misses sucking cock.

"Honey," Keith says, sighing as he weighs the word on his tongue. His fixation with playing with Matt's hair as Shiro pushes in once more never falters and Matt is happy just to have his long locks gathered away from where he's busy swallowing Keith down. "He's sweet just like it. It's a good one, Shiro."

"I know," Shiro answers, laughing low and fond as his shaft slides in smoothly, welcomed by a squeeze from Matt's ass. He fucks him in shallow pumps for a while, driving Matt crazy where he worships Keith's cock in lazy licks. 

"Fuck, _Matt_ ..."

Keith's groans are breathy things, rare and hard-earned. That's how Matt manages to make him come mere minutes later, by following the cadence of hitched breaths until Keith pours his second load down Matt's awaiting throat, spilling the rest on his chin when Matt chokes on salty slick, unprepared for what his memories dimmed. He holds onto Keith who laxly pets his hair and meets Shiro's gaze where Matt can't see.

"Go on, Takashi," says Keith softly, the look on his face endlessly loving, directed over Matt's shoulder. Shiro's thrusts quicken as a result, fucking the coherence out of Matt where he lies over Keith and lets himself be a conduit for their love, the hedonistic overload of having both of them hitting the right spot just like Shiro somewhere deep inside where Matt has spent too long craving this, a human connection. Now, as Shiro curses and Keith cradles Matt close, stroking his aching erection, he cries out in relief as he comes harder than he can remember in recent memory, hot tears smeared away by Keith's lips as Shiro's come pours over Matt's raw walls in a tide of heat that somehow still surprises him, fucked out by the hard, huge cock stretching him wide and sweetly sore around its girth as it makes a mess of him.

In the blur that follows Matt feels soothing hands roaming over his body, a terrible aching emptiness as Shiro's cock retreats, and lips ghosting everywhere from his hips to his cheeks. He drifts in a haze, too shattered to even open his eyes, and vaguely registers murmuring voices on the peripheries of his senses. A washcloth sweeps over him and he barely feels it, lapsing into sleep; that seems to be a recurring theme.

The next time Matt opens his eyes it's to the dim light of the TV in the bedroom, its light casting the bed in a soft orange glow. The discussion around him quietens and he turns his face to the side into a warm swathe of skin, pushing his body into Shiro's muscled bulk with a lazy wriggle and smiling when he feels Keith's arm snake around his waist from behind. It's nice to look up and find Shiro smiling down at him gently, ready to share a kiss that Keith wants in on a moment later and makes Matt crane around to receive. He might be punch-drunk on a tactile overload, it's a possibility. Either that, or the happy flutter in his chest is so foreign (as long legs tangle and lips skate over skin wherever they can reach) that he thinks N-Seven was right to break up with him all along.

Now that he's had a taste of Shiro and Keith, Matt may be ruined for life, or his desperation to get laid really was just that great.

He'll figure it out later.

"It's about eight," says Shiro, into Matt's hairline. "Keith wants more pizza but I'm putting my foot down."

"There's nothing wrong with reheating pizza," Keith grouses, and Matt has the impression they've been talking for a while. It's incredibly touching how easily they sweep him up into their lives without pause for thought, or seemingly do, anyway.

"Keith also wants to order in some burgers."

"We had sex and then slept for hours, I'm _starving_!"

"Baby, please compromise with me and eat some vegetables."

"Burgers have pickles in them."

"I can't … Matt, please. Help me fight my husband before he gets scurvy."

Matt smiles into Shiro's neck, feeling the way they both nestle around him as he shakes with silent laughter.

"Pizza _and _burgers," he decides, snickering as Keith smooches the curve of his jaw in triumph, "but also side-salads," preening under Shiro's nuzzling approval, "because I'm craving something _else_ juicy after spending the night here with you two."

"Oh, he thinks he's _funny_," coos Shiro, making Matt squirm back into Keith when metal fingertips tickle his hip. 

They have hours and hours of the night left to bicker and kiss and fuck, and Shiro and Keith clearly intend on ticking off everything on that quota as they gather Matt between them and start sparring over whether to buy soda or milkshakes.

Matt sighs and sinks into his new world of too many arms and legs, reassured every time he looks for a kiss and finds one waiting. There's a conversation he has to have with N-Seven eventually, maybe in a week or so when he can bear to drag his guilty ass in front of her and apologise, but also after he's figured out whether Shiro and Keith want him to stick around. Not as a permanent fixture in their private life, certainly, Matt's not that dumb (they're a pair, first and foremost) but he wouldn't mind coming over once in a while, especially now he's single again and has nowhere else to be except his lab. The way they hold him, pass him between them, it's as mindful as it is playful, and he doesn't feel used or ignored; they're his friends who love him, love _including_ him in their lives, and he could bask in that attention for a long while yet.

As long as they want him.

"Milkshakes," he decides, casting the winning vote purely because he loves the pressure of Shiro's thigh resting between his legs. It's worth Keith grumbling for the way he runs his nails down Matt's back.

Tomorrow, Matt decides with a shiver, _yes_. 

He'll figure it all out tomorrow.


End file.
